The Dominant Primordial Beast
by Chibi Chiriko
Summary: A Hiko character sketch inspired by a chapter title in "The Call of the Wild"... what makes a dragon? and what makes a man?


DISCLAIMERS: Rurouni Kenshin (c) Nobuhiro Watsuki, Jump  
Comics, Shueisha, Fuji TV and Sony Entertainment. This   
is a nonprofit work of fanfiction written only for online  
entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended.  
  
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THE DOMINANT PRIMORDIAL BEAST  
by: Chibi-Chiriko  
  
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The hands that so skilfully shape grainy lumps of clay   
into beautifully designed pots and flower vases now  
grasp the hilt of a blade poised to kill. Gleaming in   
the mirroring silver of the naked stretch of metal are  
a menacing pair of hazel eyes, the brazen color of dull  
gold, burning with primal wrath. The air is heavy with  
tension, nerves taut to the point of cracking, moments  
quickly departing as the combatants eye each other warily.  
  
A shout slices into the stillness of the night; instincts  
leap to life. Feet take off the ground, sparks fly into  
the air as the din of clashing swords and crashing bones   
destroys the night. Blood speckles the ground then soaks it as  
it settles, and a body drops without so much as a single  
cry of terror, everything spoken in the face's dull,   
lifeless expression. The stench of death diffuses into   
the air.   
  
The minted light of the moon casts a silent, melancholy   
glow on the lone figure that slowly walks down the hill,  
the very image of a great red dragon passively returning   
home.   
  
  
  
The hazel eyes that once flamed with deadliness now sparkle  
like gold nuggets under the sun. Two discs of happiness and   
contentment laugh in amusement as the stuttering lad pays him  
for the pot he so carefully crafted for a family reunion that  
was to take place that evening. The man grins almost   
devilishly as he waves the lad off, who is only to eager  
to get out of the "haunted" mountain. Chuckling to himself  
at an inside joke, he turns and retreats to his shack, mouth  
watering at the thought of a sumptuous lunch of broiled  
fish and mushrooms.   
  
  
  
The dragon -- a beast to be feared by all save the ignorant  
that eventually fall to its clutches. A great winged creature  
with eyes that can penetrate into the soul of even the most  
resilient men, whose nostrils breathe the destructive fire  
that bakes the evil in merciless flames, whose fangs sink  
deep into the flesh and draw the vibrant vermilion juice of  
life drop by drop, delighting in the cries of agony and   
writhings of the unfortunate victim.   
  
The man -- the highest form of existence under God, that which  
possesses a mind that thinks, a heart that feels and a soul   
that lives, fed not just by instinct but by decision, clothed  
not with fur but with garments made of his own hands. Given   
feet that transport him, hands that fend for him, teeth that  
chew for him, eyes that see for him, ears that hear for him,  
nerves that sense for him, he has been granted the greatest  
privilege which is to live, and not just exist. When he dies  
he does not exist anymore, but lives on; whereas the dragon  
who exists but does not live is forgotten in unknown shores  
or discarded in unexplored heights.   
  
And *he* is both man and dragon -- structured with the body  
of a man and the feral instincts of the ferocious beast that  
lives only by the law of club and fang. Both dragon and man   
in him coexist peacefully, yet their natures constantly   
conflict each other, especially on the foreground in which  
nothing but survival matters. It cannot be this way forever;  
one will eventually have to give in to that which predominates.  
  
  
  
  
With slow, hulking steps, he returns to the scenario of   
the kill. Nothing much has changed, he cynically observes,  
save for the flies that swarm over the carcass his sword  
has left behind. The blood on the ground has mercifully   
dried, yet the crimson of it still clings to the tiny blades  
of grass. The soil is scarlet with death.  
  
The shovel bites into the soil, and he flips the mound of  
grains over his shoulder. He digs until there is ample space  
for the corpse to buried in, then holds his breath as he lifts  
the body and carefully tucks it in the hole of the ground.   
He then covers the area with shovel-fuls of soil until there  
is not a single trace of the body. Then, he takes a large  
heavy stone, muscles in his forearms bulging as he bears  
its weight, then sets it over the grave.   
  
He steps back to observe his handiwork. Yet another grave  
among a sea of countless graves scattered all over a world  
that has all too willingly embraced death as a part of reality.  
A world in which man and dragon constantly battle it out  
in every living, breathing human being -- a world in which  
the dragon that lives only by instinct and not by will has  
predominated.   
  
He smiles slightly, feeling the winds of freedom on his handsome  
face, the honey-scented air sweet in his nostrils.   
  
For him, the dominant primordial beast is still the man.   
  
OWARI  
3/31/00  
  
This fic was inspired by, believe it or not, "The Call of   
the Wild" (Jack London), one of my favorite novels. It's   
great, I love the way Jack-sama uses words, and the way   
he so vividly describes the rapid pace of life from the   
viewpoint of the furry, romantic hero Buck ^.^ The title  
"The Dominant Primordial Beast" came from one of the chapters  
of the book, and the line "The law of club and fang" also  
came from one of the book's chapters. I've always liked   
Hiko Seijurou, and this is the first time I've ever written  
something 'bout the guy. I noticed there weren't that many  
Hiko fics around, so I decided to try my luck. Hopefully,   
it was worth it.  
  
Take care and God bless, minna!   
  
  
  



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